He only trusts me with his when he has to, when I’m the only one who can help him.
It’s a shame.
Because I would really want that with him.
“I have to go.”
He takes a step back, and I turn back to the elevator. I press the button, and I wait. He’s still there, watching me, but it isn’t until the elevator opens, and I step in that he speaks.
“Be careful, Jax.”
* * *
I arrive at the warehouse, and it’s empty. I’m not used to it, and I don’t like it.
For the past few weeks, Willow has been here with me.
Day in and day out, we have been here together, but the thing is, even before that, we’ve been together almost every day for a month.
This place feels colder than normal without her curled up on the couch as I work.
Shit.
I’m not sure what I’ll do once we get what we need on her husband. I’m not going to want her to leave.
What will happen?
Will she leave?
Will she stay?
Can I ask her to?
She must have a life back home that she misses.
Friends?
Maybe.
I shake off the feeling and type in my computer. I pull up my email, and what I see makes me smile.
Finally.
The names of the boys from the group home.
Now I’m getting somewhere.
It took weeks for Willow to remember that piece of data about her husband, but I wouldn’t change those weeks with her for the world, especially if that means I’ll be stuck here for the next twenty-four hours tracking down the leads.
I type both names into the DMV. It’s encrypted and hidden behind firewalls, but it takes me no time to crack it.
Pictures pop up.
I pick up my phone and call her.
Ring.
Ring.
Ring.
Voicemail.
She doesn’t answer, and it pisses me off. I know she has a life, and that she isn’t at my beck and call, but I finally have a lead, and I need her.
Unfortunately, since Willow isn’t here and can’t tell me if either of the men is her husband, finding out is not going to happen right away.
I’ll have to pick one and run with it.
Leaning back in frustration, I rub at my forehead. Beads of sweat have collected during my search. It’s been at least an hour since I’ve started down this rabbit hole. Without her here to identify him, I’m getting nowhere.
My eyes are starting to blur. I have been at this for too long.
I pick up the phone again.
Yet again, she doesn’t answer.
With no connection at all to Willow, I close the window, and then I pull up the other one.
Gregory Matthews.
Thirty years old.
I look at his height, weight, and his eyes. Not much I can tell here.
Closing out the DMV, I look into his name.
Credit history. No mortgage. Job.
Well, this is interesting. He’s not paying taxes. Unless he works under the table, this guy might hold promise. I keep clicking, typing furiously as I try to find the piece of information that will tie him to her.
Thirty minutes go by and it’s official—I can’t find anything. Just as I think I should stop this search and start something new; I find something.
Gregory’s name isn’t Gregory Matthews.
His real name is Gregory Riley.
This has got to be him. Apparently, Matthews was his mother’s name. He changed his name once he aged out of the home. What happened to you, Gregory Riley? Why did you go after Willow?
There is no question this is our guy. But why?
It takes me approximately thirty seconds to hack into the boys’ home database. They really should fix their security, but I’m happy they haven’t, and it takes me another thirty seconds for the ground to fall under me.
Holy shit.
It couldn’t be.
Chapter Forty-One
Willow
From where I’m sitting in Jax’s apartment, I can hear my phone ring, but I can’t find it. Standing, my feet take me around as I try to remember where I left it.
The sound of my steps echoes through the quiet, making it almost impossible to hear the ring.
I really need to make it louder if I’m going to forget where I place it.
But I’m so distracted all the time that even if it was on full blare, I’d still lose it.
It can’t be in the living room, that much I’m sure of.
The bedroom?
This place is way too big.
When I’m in the bedroom, the phone is no longer ringing, so now it’s pretty much a lost cause.
Five minutes pass of me undoing the bed and then remaking it. When I don’t find it there, I’m on hands and knees looking under the bed.
Still nothing.
I push myself off the floor and try to retrace my steps. What did I do today? Slept, watched TV, played on the computer, ate.
Cereal.
I ate cereal this morning. Could I have left it when I was getting food? My eyes roll of their own accord. I one hundred percent, like the scattered brain that I am, left the phone in the pantry.